


The Boy with the Bandages

by Obsessive_Writer



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: #Bucketlist, Feels, Jearco - Freeform, M/M, Modern AU, One Shot, second Chapter in progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1366066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsessive_Writer/pseuds/Obsessive_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is that kid.<br/>The clearly not liked new kid who probably shouldn't be there but still is.<br/>An incident lands his mother in hospital, and it's there that Jean meets Marco, a patient at the hospital...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy with the Bandages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavitheninja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavitheninja/gifts).



> am I a terrible person? A little...  
> S_H; I WROTE THIS LONG ASS MOFO FOR YOU ARE YOU HAPPY?!  
> Better damn be. This was a labour of love bro...  
> Enjoy~  
> also, I fucking hate the formatting of the program I used put into this... so ew, too many spaces.  
> might fix later... _miiight_

The Boy with the Bandages

 

'Here we go again...' Jean sighed, straightening his posture, shoulders back as he moved in between tables, eyes searching for an empty chair. Some blonde kid smiled up at him, pushing the chair next to him out for him.

 

“You can sit here, if you want.”

 

“Thanks...” Jean put his bag down, glancing across at the blonde as he sat down, legs crossed at the ankles and tucked under his chair as he slouched back into the surprisingly comfortable padded plastic. He studied the other, trying to work out if his fellow student was female or male. Apparently, they saw the look and recognised it for one of confusion, blue eyes lighting up as he-- definitely a guy, Jean decided, realising how stupid he was for even thinking the kid was a chick- laughed and shook his head, as if at some private joke.

 

“I'm Armin. I take it you're Jean Kirstein?”

 

“For once, someone pronounces it correctly,” Jean replied wryly, grinning as he watched the teacher place his things on the desk out the front, “yeah, I'm Jean. Nice to meet you. What class is this? My timetable is only a list, and even then, it only tells me what classroom to go to.”

 

“Mixed History and Geography. This school has them together so we have room on our timetables for study periods, extracurricular activities, and electives.” Armin said, his tone quiet and his eyes on the whiteboard. “Erwin's nice enough, just watch out for Levi.”

 

“How bad is he? I've got him for English and Lit.”

 

Armin grinned at that, “Be scared-” was all he had managed to say before some brown haired idiot, leaned around Armin to smirk at Jean.

 

“Levi will eat you alive.”

 

“I'm sure you've experienced that enough, Eren...” Armin muttered, but the other heard him clearly and spluttered a quiet “What?”

 

“Nothing, nothing... pay attention, Erwin'll get mad.”

 

“When is he ever angry? He's so calm...”

 

Jean tuned them out, eyes on the board as he got a pen out and began to take down notes on maps that Erwin had jotted down on the board before reading out the roll.

He waved vaguely when he heard his name called, a snigger breaking out from Eren's desk.

 

“Hey, Jean. You French?” he whispered.

 

“Half. What's it to you, angry German kid?”

 

“So you're _half_ a cowardly surrender monkey.”

 

Jean did not like that haughty, challenging tone. Nor did he like the look that accompanied it, which he saw when he looked over at the other, scowl turning to a glower.

“Say that again.”

 

“What, you deaf?”

 

Armin coughed, getting both their attentions. He looked at Eren disapprovingly, then turned to look at Jean the same way, but he already had his head down, carefully fixing his notes. “Don't start fights. Your dad would be pissed off if he found out you were picking fights with random new people, wouldn't he?” Armin's voice carried quietly over to him, so he could quietly follow the argument for a bit as he drew in the margin of his book.

 

“Don't fucking patronise me, Armin! I'm older than-”

 

“Older than me by not even a year. For once, shut up.”

Those words signalled the end of the conversation, so Jean quickly tuned out, slipping his earphones into his ears, sighing.

 

It had been his mother's choice to move. Her career required a change of scenery every once in a while, and his father didn't particularly care; the man was an architect of numerous skills, so it wasn't too hard to find a job. Currently, he had a job with a designing corporation, so he was in the right place; he was happy. His mother was an artist and a part time author, but every afternoon he got home- they had been there for little over three weeks- she would complain to Jean that she needed a job. A proper one.

 

“ _Get a job then.” he told her with a shrug as he stalked upstairs, intent on slipping into his room and turning on his Xbox, mentally preparing himself for an all-nighter._

 

“ _I will. Tomorrow, I will. Jean, dear?”_

 

“ _Yeah?”_

 

“ _How's the job you got, sweetie?”_

 

_Jean paused on the stairs, trying to ignore the wide eyed look of concern his mother wore._

“ _It's good.” was all he said before continuing on his way._

_It had been better than good for him. Well, his boss was nice but his fellow employees weren't that welcoming to him. Not that he cared. He was stuck with cashier duty for the day, but through that he had met a student from the school he would be attending in little over a week, Wall Maria Public University- named in honour of the wall that still stood but it's use had been rendered moot due to the elimination of the Titan threat, though parts- thanks to a good thousand years passing- had crumbled away and only some sections stood perfectly._

_The student had introduced herself as Mikasa and Jean thought she was beautiful. That and a few other things. However, before he had had the chance to ask her out, she had left._

 

_Bummer._

 

Jean was startled out of his thoughts when his shoulder was tapped. He glanced up, groaning inwardly when the teacher placed a few pieces of paper onto his table and moved onto the next row.

 

“Jean, the work's easy. Don't worry, it's just basic knowledge stuff.” Armin whispered over to him, seemingly thinking he was looking panicked- which he probably was, but it was from getting startled like that.

 

“Eren, when are you going to the hospital?” Erwin asked, and all eyes turned to the boy, whom was drawing on his desk. Without looking up, he smirked.

 

“This afternoon. My dad is back.”

 

“Okay... would you-” the bell rang, signalling the end of the class. Jean stood, picking up his bag and putting his book in before slipping the straps over his shoulders, soon joining the throng of students crowded at the door, trying to get out. They burst out into the corridor, hurrying off to different classes, but Jean stood still, reaching into the pocket of his woollen jumper to retrieve his timetable. He glanced at the next room number, 048D, then moved his gaze to the numbers above doors as he walked.

The rest of the day trickled on without any hassle- Jean was very happy to not have to see Eren much, the kid was in different classes- until PE. Unfortunately, Eren _was_ in his PE class.

 

The brunette eyed him off, his stance definitely not friendly with that cocky grin firmly set in place. Their eyes met but the consequential hand on Eren's shoulder drew Jean's gaze off the other, quickly setting his eyes on that pretty girl from a few days back.

 

Mikasa.

 

But she wasn't looking at him at all, she was staring at Eren with a look of concern that made Jean jealous, envy bubbling up in the pit of his stomach.

“Don't do anything stupid, Eren.” was all she said before she turned and moved past a group of girls to get into the gym.

Jean's eyes followed the raven haired girl as she walked off, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly.

 

“Pig.” Eren hissed as Jean passed him, the shorter flinging a loose punch at him that he dodged, glancing at him with a smirk as he slipped into the gym, consequently running into Mikasa again.

 

“I-I'm sorry... hey, I was wondering if you'd like to go see a movie or something with me some time?”

 

She looked up at him, pity glimmering in the depths of those obsidian eyes as she shook her head slightly, offering a consolatory smile as she moved out of the doorway.

“Jean, right? The guy from the grocery store....” when he grinned in response to that, she continued, her tone changing to one of seemingly reluctant truth, “I think it's really sweet of you but... I'm not looking for a relationship at the moment and I'm busy with my studies. Sorry, Jean.”

 

Jean swallowed the bitter bile crawling up his throat, forcing a calm, easy going smile.

“It's cool, I understand.”

 

“Thanks... see you later.”

 

And with that, she continued on her way.

 

Jean was still mentally cursing himself as he jogged around the oval twenty minutes later, legs aching as he neared his sixth lap. He passed a blonde, stopping when he heard the struggling pants the other was emitting. Armin stopped, hands on his knees, coughing.

 

“Don't over do it... how many laps have you done?” Jean asked as Armin straightened, blue eyes wide.

 

“Three and a half... It's a fair distance.” He said slightly defensively, moving to jog again but stopping when Jean put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Walk with me?”

 

Armin smiled, sighing shakily as he walked side by side with Jean.

“Thanks..”

 

“No problem. Where're your friends?”

 

“Eren and Mikasa? They finished I think-”

 

“Armin! You okay, man?!”

 

“That'd be Eren...” Jean muttered, glancing over his shoulder as they neared the starting point, surely enough; spotting the panting brunette, whom glared openly at Jean.

 

“I'm fine...” Armin replied.

 

Levi, who had reluctantly agreed to doing a relief teacher role for a PE teacher, tapped his wrist, flinging a soccer ball at Eren's head as he walked up behind Jean.

Stumbling as he grabbed the fast moving object, he fell on his arse.

 

“Two teams. Christa, you can choose for one team. Eren, the other. Get to it, you have half an hour left of this shit.” Levi instructed, giving a wave of his hand before he sat himself down on the sparse grass.

 

Eren stood and turned to the now assembled class, picking out people, eventually lobbing the ball at Jean.

 

“Horse face.”

 

Jean glowered at him, catching the ball and throwing it back.

“I don't want to be on your team, douche.”

 

“Who said I fucking wanted you on my team?”

 

“You impli-”

 

“Bull fucking shit, dickwad! Why the fuck would I want you on my team?”

 

“Oh, I dunno... maybe because I could make the team actually win?”  
  


“Both of you, shut the fuck up.” Levi hissed, snatching the ball and grabbing Eren by the collar.

 

“My office. You've started four fights in my class this lesson, three in my English class. I told you to calm down.”

 

“What about Jean?!”

 

Levi glanced at Jean, rolling the ball to said boy before walking off, tugging Eren with him, not commenting further.

As soon as the duo were out of earshot, a kid with a buzz cut, who had identified himself as Connie a few hours before, burst out laughing.

 

“Lovers tiff. I'm making bets he gets his arse done in Levi's office.” Ymir commented, slinging an arm around Christa's shoulders.

 

“You reckon he'll be back before the end of this lesson?” Connie asked as the group moved to where their bags were piled up.

 

“Maybe not... ditch?”

 

“Hell yeah! My place, parent's aren't home and there'd be booze.” Reiner said from his position on the grass beside the bags, grinning widely.

 

“But it's a school day...” Christa said, quickly interrupted by Jean,

“Wait, what what what. What the fuck's going on?”

 

All eyes were on him now, making him feel slightly uncomfortable.

 

“Right, sorry newbie. Rumour is that Eren, resident angry German kid, is in a relationship with Levi.” Reiner filled him in.

 

“I guessed that much...”

 

“It's so more than a rumour! I bet, if you went to Levi's office, you'd hear the moaning.” Connie piped up, nudging Jean, “C'mon...”

 

“Uh, no thanks...”

 

“Well, you're no fun... party at Reiner's? Let's say... meet in twenty.”

 

“Or we can just go...”

 

Ymir's comment had most people moving, picking up bags. A handful of people remained.

 

Jean was torn. Ditch for a party, or be a goody-two shoes and be ridiculed for not having the balls to ditch? The choice was made for him pretty quickly. He didn't want to be _that_ kid, no way.

He had made the mistake of saying no when he was fifteen, two years back, at a different school and he wasn't making it again.

 

The minutes ticked into a few hours, and by then, Jean was seated quite comfortably on Reiner's family's couch, a cup of timidly sipped vodka next to him as he watched some action movie.

The others were seated on the floor, playing a game of spin the bottle; he had argued enough that he had managed to join Mina, Annie, and Bertholdt with getting out of it.

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him out of his rapturous gazing at the wide screen LCD TV. He slid the mobile out of his pocket, glancing at the screen.

 

_Dad._

 

Shit. He knew that Jean'd ditched out on class. Shit.

His blood froze over momentarily, quickly replaced with the uncomfortable feeling of guilt and nerves. Nonetheless, he opened the text.

 

He blinked, feeling sick again, but for a different reason. He stood, shaking slightly as he moved outside, everyone's eyes following him. Ignoring a few questions, he stepped through the door, shutting it behind him and leaning back against the wood.

Breathing in deeply, he read the text again.

 

_Jean,_

_Your mother's in hospital... I've just left work, so I'll be there soon._

_Meet you out the front of the hospital after school, okay?_

_She's fine, son. Breathe._

 

His mother was in hospital. Why? His dad hadn't specified but it wasn't helping with the heavy feeling of nausea that was stirring up his stomach, bile working its way up his throat.

He loved his mother dearly, what if she was sick, to the point of dying?

The door behind him shuddered as someone tried to open it from the inside.

Jean moved off the door, stepping back as Christa peered out, blue eyes full of worry.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked, worry disappearing when he forced a smile, nodding.

 

“Yeah, but I should go. Tell the others I said bye. See ya.” and with that, he turned and left, striding off towards the hospital, four blocks away.

 

 

Jean hated hospitals. They always smelt like heavy duty cleaning products, but there was always that undercurrent of sick. Maybe a hint of death.

 

There wasn't anything cheerful about Trost's hospital, with it's grey-but-sort-of-blue walls, grey linoleum floors, dingy yet expensive cafeteria.

 

Jean's mother had been admitted, suffering a cardiac arrest. The paramedics had been lucky, they told him, but she was going to be just fine. He sat in a half broken plastic chair that had a suspicious dark stain on the seat, which the nurse insisted was just a coffee stain.

It made various sounds of protest, like an irritable old man, as he leant forward, watching the floor intently. His mother was asleep, and his father was off making a phone call related to work.

The room was filled with little beeps from the machines wired up to the sleeping woman, and extra noises like both the occupants of the room's breathing, and the dull drone from the traffic on the highway, which was outside the window.

 

He glanced up when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

His father smiled briefly, indicating that he stood.

 

“Maybe go for a walk? Or go home...?”

 

It was clear by his tone that Jean's father hoped for both.

 

“Yeah, guess I should shower... see you later, Dad.” Jean replied, moving past him. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

He glanced down the corridor then paused, looking for a sign or anything really, to show him a way out or a way to the canteen.

 

_Fucking piece of expensive shit but who damn cares, I'm hungry..._

 

No signs, so he walked aimlessly, keeping an eye out for any possible sign.

As he turned a corner, an object collided with his legs, sending him sprawling on the ground.

Expecting some stupid nurse, but worrying that some oldie ran into him, he got onto his knees, standing slowly with a wince, eyes leaving the floor as he spoke,

 

“The fuck...”

 

“Oh gosh, I'm sorry! A-are you okay?”

 

It wasn't a nurse, nor was the person old. He sat in a wheelchair, leaning forward, brown eye- only one was visible, the other was covered partially by a bandage- full of concern. The young man seemed to be his age, or there about, but he was awkwardly old fashioned in manners, for sure.

 

“I'm fine.” oh, the bruising along his thigh, hip and foot said otherwise, but the look the other was giving him was disconcerting and sent rivulets of warmth through Jean. Suddenly, he was starting to doubt his heterosexuality.

 

Freckles, as Jean was now mentally naming him, broke into a relieved smile, offering him a hand.

“You sure?”

 

“Yea...”

 

“I'm Marco...” he offered as they shook hands, Jean's mind mentally noting that Marco had wonderfully soft skin-

 

“Jean. Nice to meet you. So, I was heading for the canteen... I should go.”

 

“Oh! I was going there too. Might as well go with you- uh, if that's okay?”

 

Jean looked at Marco and caught that cautiously pleading look, the slightly pouting lip.

“Sure, I was lost anyway... You know the way?”

 

Marco laughed, freckles pooling in dimples as he grinned brightly. Jean forced himself to look elsewhere, suddenly interesting in his phone.

“I've been here for a few years enough to know my way around,” he lowered his voice as if he was spilling the darkest secrets of the world to Jean, “even to places I shouldn't be going.”

 

“Really. Where?”

 

The darker haired boy grinned again, tapping the side of his nose knowingly before wheeling himself past Jean.

“Need to know basis... You visiting someone here, or....?”

 

Jean took the hint and followed, settling his hands into the pockets of his jumper.

“My Mother, she had a cardiac arrest.”

 

“Oh gosh... sorry to hear that.”

 

Jean brushed it off, shrugging.

“She's fine... So you've been here a few years? Why?”

 

“... terminally ill. I fell sick really badly when I was twelve, got admitted permanently a year later...” Marco said after a moments pause, chancing a look at the other.

 

“Oh.”

 

“My immune system sucks, Jean... I haven't been to school in eight months. I get assignments via email and from one of the Doctor's sons bringing me the work. I'm not allowed to eat food from out of the hospital, because it _might_ make me relapse.”

 

“Which school?” Jean asked, trying to divert the conversation to a lighter topic. He knew he was grasping at straws, but well... there was a reason for the fact he didn't have many friends and that was what he was trying to control around Marco, whose feelings... he didn't want to hurt.

 

“Wall Maria Public.”

 

“No shit?”

 

“ _Yeah shit_.” Marco giggled, nearly running Jean over again as he turned yet another damn corner, through some doors which lead out into the dingy ass canteen. Jean glanced around the room, breathing a sigh of relief as he spotted the counter, ending up following Marco again anyway.

 

Getting some chicken burger thing- honestly, Jean forgot what he asked for, and the taste of it was confusing- chose a table to sit at and slid into one of those cheap chairs that reminded him heavily of the type you find in gardening stores; the type with no padding, just nondescript wooden seat and back.

 

Marco came over, flashing Jean a small smile that had the boy questioning his sexuality once again as he placed a wrap on the table, scooting in closer before picking it up, unwrapping it and beginning to eat.

 

They ate in companionable silence, making vague small talk occasionally, but it was the topic just before Jean got up and left that had his mind reeling.

 

“You single?”

 

Marco snorted, wrinkling his nose slightly as he looked down at his hands in his lap.

“Yes... what, do you want to ask me out?”

 

“W-what? No... No. I was just wondering, sheesh.”

 

“Mm... what about you?”

 

“Yep, as single as they come.”

 

“That's g- Oh, oh! I remembered I have something on now. What time is it?”

 

Jean glanced at his phone.

“...just before nine.”

 

“I'm late. Ah, so maybe I'll see you around, Jean?”

 

“Most likely, yeah.”

 

Marco's smile, coupled with the soft blush on his cheeks, not to mention the quiet “Sweet, see ya...” he uttered before leaving, stayed in Jean's mind until later that night.

 

He laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

 

“Am I gay?” he asked the ceiling, receiving no response.

 

“Maybe I am... shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Maybe I'm gay. Wait, no. Mikasa. She's hot. Love that sexy Goddess.... would I fuck her though?” he thought for a moment, seriously thinking about the issue, “... probably not. Would I kiss her? Eh... maybe? What about Marco... would I fuck Marco?”

 

Jean felt his cheeks flush at the thought of seeing Marco naked. Beneath him. Moaning. _Naked._

Blood flooded to a place other than his cheeks and he sighed loudly, turning to lay on his side.

 

Oh yes, he would kiss Marco, he realised.

 

He would _gladly_ kiss him, and more.

 

Shit.

 

Maybe not totally gay, but he, Jean Kirstein was evidently not as straight as he had thought.

 

 

The days dragged on, but Jean still visited the hospital every afternoon to visit his mother, whom was making a swift recovery. Naturally, on these visits, he almost always found himself talking to Marco, who seemed to enjoy his company very much.

 

Jean's mother was discharged after two weeks, and that was when Jean stopped going to see Marco.

The reason they talked in the first place was because Jean's mother was a patient as well, but Jean wanted a distraction. Their friendship- or whatever you wanted to call it- was going to be a temporary thing, obviously.

 

But yet, the guilt got to Jean a week later.

After class, he left and took the short cut to the hospital from the school and stayed with Marco for a few hours before he went home, opening the door and receiving an earful of abuse about getting home late. To him, it didn't matter. At all.

 

Marco liked the visits, he said so himself.

His family was big and his parents were busy catering for his siblings. Most of the time, they forgot about their son who was awaiting a call at night, just to even talk to them. Still, he was grateful they visited every Saturday.

 

Through the visits, the long afternoons spent lounging on Marco's bed, or in the lounge, Jean learnt a few things about Marco.

 

  1. That he hadn't had Oreos in nearly a year, but he craved for them a lot.

  2. He could walk, sort of. The wheelchair was just another precaution against him relapsing again.




And the third.... he was gay.

This had been confessed to Jean in a quiet voice, the freckled teens cheeks flushing deeply.

 

Jean hadn't responded for a moment then shrugged.

“'s cool. Good for you, man.”

….

 

Three months had passed since they had met.

 

They sat opposite each other in the sparse courtyard near Marco's room, listening to the bubbling of the little fountain.

Jean sprawled out, occasionally glancing up from his notes to look at Marco, who was out of his wheelchair, the bandage that had been around his head now gone, both his eyes open and focussed on the book in front of him. For a moment.

 

Marco looked up, catching Jean out with a grin.

 

“What's up? Don't get the work?” he asked, peering over at his notes.

 

Jean mock scowled.

“Of course I get the work, Mr Best Grades Ever. Just cause I'm dumb, doesn't mean I'm struggling with this crap.”

 

“You're not dumb, Jean. I didn't mean it that way, I'm sorry.”

 

“No problem...”

 

Thus, they both settled back into a comfortable silence again, only broken when Marco coughed, stifling it with a hand. He winced, sitting up a bit more to reach for his bag, looking through it.

Finally, Jean saw his chance and unzipped his own bag, slipping a hand into the dark confines, fingers closing the end of a packet. Keeping an eye on Marco, he feigned disinterest as he produced the pack of Oreos, chucking it in front of Marco, who simply stared at it.

 

“Oh, Jean... really?”

 

“Yeah... you said that you wanted some, right?”

 

“But... but I'm not allowed them.”

 

Jean shrugged, resting his chin on the palm of his right hand, waving vaguely with his pen in his left.

“Don't tell the Doctors, who cares? Take a risk, c'mon. I'll take the hit for you, and say I brought 'em- which I did, so I'm not lying. I'll get kicked out probably but who cares.”

 

Marco picked the packet up, hesitating.

“I'm gonna get in so much trouble.” he grinned, “Fine, if I relapse, guess we know who to blame.”

 

“Ow, don't make me start feeling guilty, Marco!”

 

The other stuck his tongue out at him and broke the packet open, fishing an Oreo out and offering it to Jean, who shook his head, smiling.

 

For the first time in a long time, he smiled properly, not some forced, shit-eating grin.

For the first time in a long time, Jean felt genuinely happy that he had made someone happy- that he was the cause of that broad grin that Marco now wore.

“Nah, I'm fine. Thanks though.”

 

“No, thank _you_ , Jean.” Marco smiled again and Jean couldn't help but smile back, both their smiles turning into mischievous grins as a nurse saw and tutted loudly.

 

 

It felt like a dream. Surely, that's what it was; just a dream.

It had happened so quickly...

Marco was definitely _not_ leaning close to him, Jean reasoned.

 

A week had passed since the Oreo smuggle. It had started as just the average afternoon; Jean would show up at the hospital, Marco would wait in the foyer for him. They would go to Marco's room or the courtyard and study, or just talk about simple, boring things. That was all. They had sat on the bed, legs crossed, books in front of them. Jean had planned to study...

 

“Jean...”

 

His eyes flickered open, and he let them meet Marco's brown ones.

They focussed then unfocussed. He couldn't breathe, _why couldn't he breathe?_

 

“I'm sorry... what?”

 

This time Marco didn't speak, leaning forward further, lips brushing against Jean's.

“I... really like you.”

 

He had left, half an hour later, using the excuse of better Wi-Fi at home to leave. Oh God, he felt so bad for saying that, but in truth, he needed to think properly. And that was one of many things he couldn't do around Marco.

Jean perched on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.

 

“He likes me... I like him... why the fuck did I leave?” he asked himself, feeling ill again.

 

'I'm a coward, that's why.'

 

He laid back, listening to the world outside as rain started pattering against the window, thunder rumbling in the distance.

 

It was going to be a big storm.

 

The rain poured down, coming in huge torrents. According to the weather man, it was the worst in _years_. Gutters flooded, a few trees came down, blocking roads and crushing cars. Slowly, things got worse and worse.

School was cancelled for four days and during those days, Jean's parents had him on house arrest to finish assessments. He didn't get to see Marco, though, by the end of the third day, he realised that he wanted to. Badly.

 

He wanted to tell him the truth.

 

The rain continued on and off for another week, and finished with a large storm, which caused a mass black out across most of Trost. Said power outage lasted for three hours and twenty-six minutes-- Jean knew, he had sat glaring at his laptop, timing it.

He didn't know how Marco was, and for the moment, had forgotten- almost forgotten- about him.

Then it happened.

He was walking to class, head down, earphones out and dangling down his chest. He was lost in thought, yet fully aware of everything going on around him, but he didn't give a single fuck about what snatches of conversations he could pick up on.

 

“--Did you hear about Marco?”

 

“Marco Bodt? Oh yeah, I heard...”

 

Jean looked up, eyes followed him uninterestedly but gave him nothing, no answers.

Everyone knew by now that he was friends with Marco, and that it wasn't just a pity thing.

They knew enough, and seemed to understand that Marco and his relationship had an undercurrent of well, something else, if Eren's daily sermons to Jean's supposed homosexuality were anything to go by.

 

He asked. And asked, and asked.

 

Everyone looked at him like he was stupid.

He certainly felt stupid, or extremely uneducated and uninformed. Right until the last person he thought would talk to him on semi decent terms actually did so.

 

Eren glanced up at the taller boy, shrugging.

“Haven't heard anything, actually. Try going to the hospital.”

 

“The hospital...?”

 

“Are you dumb? The big buildings you've been going to for the past few months.”

 

“I know what a fucking hospital is, Eren. Why...”

 

Eren sighed loudly, glaring at his table as if he wanted to tear chunks out of it.

“Because Marco, _your definitely not boyfriend,_ is there. Should be there.” he said in the most over patient tone the boy could manage, mouth set into a smirk that Jean momentarily messed up with a clean slap up the side of the face before he turned on his heel and strode out.

 

Oh yes.

 

Jean Kirschtein was gonna fucking _miss_ a class to see his definitely-not-a-boyfriend. And he was going to fucking find out what the hell was up, even if it cost him his education, his chances at getting an amazing job, or even if it just fucked up his life in general.

 

Then it all clicked. As he walked his way out of the place to the God forsaken hospital, it clicked.

He would risk it all, fuck everything up, just for Marco, just to be with him.

 

It clicked. He was in love with Marco Bodt.

 

He swallowed nervously, focussing on his feet as he walked, readying himself for the confession.

“I fucking love you man!... no. not cool. Full homo, marry me. NO. fuck this....”

 

Already, he had reached the hospital's doors. He looked up.

“NOPENOPENOPE, back the fuck up. I'm missing class for a _guy,_ ugh!” he stopped himself, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to take a step inside.

One.

 

Two.

 

Three....

 

eighteen... twenty... twenty-two....

 

Bam, right into---

 

 

Some surprisingly hot chick. Hmm. Right.

 

She looked up, pretty green eyes widening.

“Rude.” she commented, moving to get around Jean but pausing, eyeing the young man again.

“I'm...-”

 

“Sorry, I'm not interested. Bye.”

She stared after him blankly as he walked off, eyes forward.

 

He needed to focus.

 

Shit. Did he seriously, _seriously_ just ignore a decent looking woman? Well fuck, he had done just that.

Did that make him a bad person? Maybe a little...

Did he give a fuck?

 

Not a single one. He wanted to see Marco, _his_ Marco.

 

Worry built up in the pit of his stomach.

 

What if Marco wasn't there? What if...

 

He stopped outside Marco's room, inhaling deeply.

“Here we go...” he muttered, shoving the door open.

 

An empty bed.

 

The sheets were folded back neatly, creases smoothed out. No bags on the floor or on the chair, and there wasn't any paper on the cork board (there had been when Jean had been there last, he knew)

He stood in the doorway, staring at the bed.

 

“Marco...?” it was barely a whisper, nothing more.

He felt a hand on his arm and jumped, turning to see a nurse.

 

“You lost, kid?”

 

“No... I'm looking for Marco.”

 

She looked confused, thinking for a moment before shaking her head.

“I don't know no Marco, sorry.”

 

“He was here, in this room.” Jean insisted, his tone verging on desperate. Oh, he knew he was.

So, so fucking desperate.

 

The nurse seemed to pick up on this- womanly instinct, Jean assumed- and nodded slowly, with the look of having to deal with someone clearly insane in her eyes as she turned away and walked to the Nurse's station, waving Jean over.

 

Her fingers tapped deftly over the keypad as he walked over, leaning over the divider to look at the names.

 

“We had issues with the system, cause of the storm, so... maybe he is here... um...”

 

She wrinkled her nose, reluctantly looking up at Jean.

“Marco...?”

 

“Bodt.”

 

“Ah...”

 

More silence. Panic gnawed at his innards, making him nauseous.

 

“Not here. I could ask one of the others if they know another way to find him on the system, if you want? I'm new, just hired, really.”

 

Jean gulped, swallowing the bitter tears that threatened to fall, and the sharp bile that stung the back of his throat. He shook his head. For a moment, he didn't talk.

“Nah, I don't want to waste your time.”

 

“No, I insist. Done.” she hurried off and retrieved help. Within minutes another search happened.

 

“Nothing, honey. I'm sorry.”

 

The duo regarded him as if he were insane and for a long moment, as he turned and walked out of the hospital, he felt damn mad. Marco was gone. Maybe Marco hadn't existed....

 

“Jean! Goddamnit, Jean! Slow down!”

 

Warms encircled his waist, pulling him back. He froze.

The voice was very fucking familiar, so was that low nervous laugh.

 

“Marco.” he turned, hugging the other tight. God, he'd hug the guy til the world ended if it stopped the sobs that began to wrack his body.

 

“It was only a week, sheesh...”

 

“Nearly two, and I heard vague rumours and no one would tell me anything.”

 

Marco was quiet for a moment, rubbing Jean's back.

“What were the rumours?”

 

“Honestly, they were that vague..”

 

“Oh, well, I've been discharged. I got out a few days ago, actually.” Marco beamed, “So... do you care that much that you really worried for me?”

 

Jean looked down, chewing his bottom lip.

To tell or not to tell, that was the question- wait fuck no.

“Of course! You're like, my best friend and shit.”

 

“Best friends for ever and ever?”

 

“Totally besties...”

 

They both laughed, then silence crept back in. It wasn't comfortable, at all.

Both young men struggled for words both couldn't utter without some difficulty.

 

“I-”

 

“Jean-.... you start.”

 

Jean glanced down the corridor and nodded, quietly reaching for Marco's hand and leading him into a kitchenette.

“Look, the other day... I was a jerk, and I didn't really....- fuck it. Dude, Marco... I like you. Like, love you like you.”

 

“Oh God, Jean, you are such a fucking _dork_.” Marco laughed, drawing Jean closer and kissing him on the lips. Jean kissed back, arms uncertainly encircling Marco's neck.

They kissed for a minute or so, breaking apart to breathe and to move to a more comfortable place on a couch. Marco rested his head on Jean's shoulder and smiled sadly.

 

“Okay, your turn.” Jean said softly.

 

Marco nodded, closing his eyes.

“I got discharged... but they told me I'm relapsing, at a slower rate than usual. There isn't a way to stop it and... I have just over a year and a half.”

 


End file.
